


Textbook Living

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Humor, Charles is 17, Cherik - Freeform, Erik is a Big Dorkface, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I always write happy endings bc im a sop, M/M, Student!Erik, accidental roommates au, homeless!Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4258020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has never thought of himself as a social person; it's the reason he lives alone, off campus, away from the mess that is intimacy. That is, until he finds a half-frozen and very homeless Charles Xavier on his doorstep. Then he doesn't exactly know what he thinks of himself anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter Storm

Erik rather disliked winter at that moment, though perhaps it was just that he disliked this storm.

It had started snowing two days ago, and sometime during his classes the clouds had decided to start raining. The result was a lovely grey sludge settled pleasantly over every open surface in Boston, coating his car and his shoes. He gently slid his laptop under his jacket and trudged  
his way to his door.

He sometimes wondered why he hadn’t gone to Stanford; it was sunny in California. Warm. There was no grey sludge. Sleet wouldn’t have tried to his murder his laptop, in California.

It was also sunny; Erik eyed the dark path leading into the pitch black alcove that was his door and wondered how sunset could possibly fall at 3:30 _anywhere._

He ran to the doorㅡthese shoes were _leather_ damn itㅡand found himself planted face down on the sidewalk a few feet from the alcove, sludge on his jacket and something warm against his legs. Erik turned around in a crouch and found himself face to face with the palest person he had ever seen, the contrast a shock against the black of the night. The boyㅡbecause he was young, at most a college freshmanㅡlooked ready to fall over, blue eyes wide and scared.

Erik grabbed his arm without thinking, and the younger man flinched. He lessened his grip and tried for a smile. It probably came out as a grimace.

“Why don’t you come in for a bit?” Erik said quietly. He felt like he was talking to a cornered animal, ready to bolt or lash out. “My sidewalk’s awful cold this time of year.”

The younger man opened his mouth to say somethingㅡhis lips were almost blueㅡand then stopped. He nodded.

The second they made it inside Erik’s guest shuddered like they had entered somewhere even colder, then dropped the moth eaten trench coat he’d been wearing. It piled in a sopping mess at his feet, and Erik stared.

He was shorter than Erik by a few inches and skinny by comparison, small and swaying on his entrance mat. His arms were bare, hanging out of a ragged T-shirt, and he wore shorts like it was summer time.

“T-thank you,” the boy stuttered, bony arms coming up to rub warmth into his limbs. “I d-don’tㅡI meanㅡI’m sorry I was… on yourㅡ”

“You’re fine.” Erik cut in, making his voice gentle. He eyed the increasingly violent shivers and concluded that his guest was decidedly _not_ fine. 

 

*****

 

“Oh, you r-really don’t have to…” The boy’s voice was like so soft Erik almost missed it, his head deep in his closet. 

He picked up his thickest turtle neck, a pair of long orange flannel pajamas that he had never wornㅡthank you, Emmaㅡand tossed them in the direction of the voice. 

“I really do have to,” he replied, now looking for those furry socks he wore whenever he was spent a night with his laptop on the couch. Erik turned around and brought them to the boy sitting on his bed, handing them to him along with a towel and motioning towards the bathroom. He tried again for a smile. “You’re half frozen and wearing soggy shorts in November. I own five identical turtlenecks. Please.”

The bathroom door closed and Erik sank onto his bed. He shed his jacket while staring blankly at the wall across from him, wondering what he was doing.

And then he stopped thinking about what he was doing, because it made his head hurt. The priority was making sure the kid didn’t die of hypothermia.

 

He walked into the kitchen while Erik was making tea, looking frumpy and oddly endearing in the over sized turtleneck and furry socks. The color was beginning to return to his cheeks.

Erik looked over and held up a glass canister. “Sugar?” he asked. The boy looked mildly alarmed by the question, taking a moment to reply.

He licked his lips and Erik suddenly became very interested in the cups he was holding. 

“That would be nice.” The boy’s voice was just a touch less quiet. “Thank you”

They stood in the kitchen silently for a moment, sipping tea and avoiding each other’s gazes. Erik finally broke the silence, clearing his throat. “My name is Erik, if you were wondering.”

“Charles.” the boy said. He held the the mug with both hands, absorbing the warmth. 

Erik nodded, putting down his mug and motioning toward his living room. He'd stalled conversation long enough. “Charles, I think we need to talk.”

 

Charles perched awkwardly at the end of his couch, Erik resting his elbows on his knees and trying to think of what to say.

“I… I was wondering if I could dry my coat before I go?” Charles asked timidly, his eyes flickering to Erik’s for only a moment. Erik raised an eyebrow and Charles read it wrong. “I’ll give you back your clothes, don’t worry.” he added hastily, fingers letting go of the fabric they had been clutching. It was ridiculously soft, the warmest thing in the world. 

“Are you planning on leaving _tomorrow?_ ” Erik tried to keep most of the incredulity out of his voice. He glanced out the window, where a grey wall of snow continued to fall outside.

Charles swallowed. “I can leave tonight, if you’d like.”

Erik stared at him, at the way the turtleneck hung off his bony form. The snow outside was only a shade paler than he was. He made up his mind.

“Charles,” Erik began, waiting for the boy's eyes to meet his. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re staying here. It’sㅡ” He glanced at his clock display. ”ㅡnegative five degrees outside right now. I'll literally bar you from the door, the way you are now.”

Charles’s eyes had gotten a bit wide at his words; he looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re… You’re going to let me stay?” The frail hope in his voice made something in Erik’s heart twinge. 

“Of course.” Erik replied. 

Perhaps it was the fact that Erik was just a larger man, but now that he could really see him Erik realized that there really was no way Charles could be an adult.

“Charles?” 

The younger man looked up quickly. “Yes?”

“How old are you?” Erik asked tentatively. At the mild terror that crossed Charles’s face he backtracked quickly. “I just meanㅡyou’re far too young to be out on the streets alone.”

Charles looked away from him, determinedly kneading the fabric of his sweater. “I…” he trailed off, looking like he wanted to sink into the ground. There was something desperate in his tone, as if his age was some terrible secret. “I don’tㅡI can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Erik asked. He knew he sounded impatient, but that was just his nature. He wasn’t used to dealing with people period, let alone a homeless teenager he had just invited to room with him. He tried to soften his tone. “Nothing you say will change the fact that the guest room is yours.”

Charles looked up at him, and Erik blinked, surprised at the brightness in his eyes, like they were about to tear up. He took a visible breath, as if to steady himself.

“I’m seventeen.” Charles confessed, his voice quiet. “I wasㅡMy parents didn’t want me anymore. I didn’t… I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I was living in the local shelter but thenㅡ” He looked away from Erik again. “ㅡthen I got into trouble there, and I had to leave. At first it was alright… I had places to sleep, and people were kind, but winter…” He looked up sheepishly and Erik saw the shadow of a beautiful smile. “You’re door was warm, and out of the wind and snow.”

“Well I’m glad you found it.” Erik said honestly, not wanting to think about Charles, wearing summer clothes and a threadbare coat, frozen to death on some other doorstep. He seemed so fragile and kind; he wondered what kind of parents could ever throw their own child out onto the streets, especially someone like Charles. “Your parents,” Charles’s expression turned wary as soon as he mentioned them. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did they…?” Charles looked as if he was going to cry again, and Erik decided to let it rest. “You don’t have to tell me. Actuallyㅡ” Another glance at his clock. It was late now, past midnight. He’d be dead in the lectures tomorrow. “ㅡwe should go to bed now, I suppose. I will, at least. Feel free to use the shower, or the kitchen. Guest bedroom is next to mine upstairs.”

Erik left Charles slightly shocked on the couch, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. He probably shouldn’t have left so abruptly, but he was reaching the limit of his emotional and social abilities. Handling people was like toying with paper cranes; they crinkled and got crushed by offhand movements, thoughtless comments. And after that they were never truly the same, even when folded back up. Handling Charles felt like holding a glass crane in his hands, and it was slightly terrifying. It was as if he’d break him, and only be left with shards.

People in his life were best kept at a friendly distance; people like Emma, or Alex. Casual friends. People that could make him laugh, but could never make him cry.

He hadn’t had a roommate after freshman year; the mess with Sebastian still followed him around. And now his second roommate would be a homeless adolescent. 

This was still, Erik decided, better than rooming with Shaw. Unless Charles had homicidal tendencies too.

 

*****

 

Charles sat on Erik’s leather couchㅡhe seemed to really like leatherㅡand wondered if he was dreaming. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathed in and out, and when he opened them he was still there. Sitting on this ridiculously soft couch, wearing socks from the heavens, and dear lord he was drinking _tea._

He heard Erik’s door close upstairs and allowed himself to finally sink into the cushions of the sofa; it was so wonderfully plush, a luxury from his memories. The warmth of the house sank into his bones; everything in the world was perfect, except he was starving. 

_Feel free to use the showers, or the kitchen._

Perhaps that had been Erik’s subtle way of saying that Charles was grimy as the streets, but he didn’t think he’d appreciate showers running while he was sleeping. That left the kitchen, but Charles had barely even looked towards it before his hunger was overridden by the fear that he would be overstepping. He was amazed that Erik had left him here at all; most people he had met looked constantly afraid in his presence, as if he would rob them of everything they had on the spot.

Not that they were completely wrong. There had been moments, seconds, hours, or days, when the desperation had been high enough for him to do _anything,_ except he had been so weak that he could do nothing.

Erik had trusted him, let him into his house. He would not take advantage. Charles felt terrified of being thrown out again; he could never endanger that. He'd be polite, wary of Erik's opinions. He couldn't tell him why he'd been disowned, or why he'd left the shelter. 

His sexuality has gotten him rejected from a home twice now; why would the third time be any different?

Soon, Charles's exhaustion won out over his anxiety. The combination of warmth, a soft couch, and the comfort of tea lulled him to sleep before he could even spare a thought for the guest bedroom above.

 

*****

 

Erik stumbled down the stairs at 6:15 am and found Charles curled up on the couch, having slept downstairs without a blanket the entire night.

"Christ," Erik muttered, jogging back upstairs to drag a blanket from his closet. He draped it over Charles's sleeping form and tried not to think about how terribly intimate it felt. He'd only done this to his mother before, making sure she was warm on those nights she fell asleep reading. 

He opened his fridge and found the forgotten end of a loaf of bread, some eggs, and a sad bunch of scallions. He knew for a fact that his relatively large cabinets held nothing but two twin shakers of salt and pepper.

It was the normal stock for him; campus had the cafeteria, and he practically lived off of ordered food otherwise. The situation was more than enough for the lone college student; Erik had not realized how entirely inadequate it was until faced with the task of feeding a starved seventeen year old.

Charles stumbled into the kitchen just as Erik was closing the doors, blinking sleep out of his eyes. His vague curls were ruffled from sleep, the blanket wrapped around him like a cake. His socks shuffled across the tiles.

This was problematic. Erik found him much too endearing.

"Sorry, but it like breakfast is going to be eggs with a side of eggs topped with eggs. Perhaps some scallions." Erik apologized, distracting himself with getting out a pan.

"That sounds wonderful." Charles replied, and he sounded so genuine that Erik had to remember where the kid was coming from. "Could I help in any way?"

 _You could stop looking like that._ Erik thought, feeling weak. Instead, he said, "You could put the water on to boil, for the tea."

Charles did so with surprising vigor; there was an odd look of joy as he opened the packet of tea leaves, as he poured the pot. 

"Fan of tea?" Erik asked, amused.

Charles blushed, and Erik became riveted with beating eggs. "I've missed it."

Erik nodded. It made him sad, thinking about how dire Charles's living conditions had been. He was still a teenager, and yet had the haggard look in his eyes of someone who had suffered too much, too many times. 

Erik wondered what exactly had happened for Charles to get on the streets. In America, no less.

"You're not from here." Erik stated, trying not to watch as Charles inhaled his scrambled eggs. 

Charles nodded, plate clean. "My parents are originally from London. We moved back and forth between London and New York after I was ten, but I am from England." Charles looked at Erik, and for a moment he saw an intelligent, glittering mind behind the layers of weariness and hurt. "You're not from around here either."

"Germany." Erik said. He refilled Charles's plate, ignoring the half-hearted refusals. "I'm attending my third year at MIT."

"MIT," Charles breathed, looking impressed. He looked like he was remembering something, a small smile on his lips. His expression turned slightly sad. "That was on my list. Harvard was first of course; wonderful neurology programs..." He stopped, looking embarrassed. "I mean, that was before. Of course."

"You'll make a wonderful neurologist. Or whatever you want to be." Erik said, a bit firmly. 

Charles offered him another small, melancholy smile. "Geneticist." he admitted quietly. 

Erik smiled into his mug of tea. Charles quickly cleared the rest of the food.

He rolled up his sleeves, picking up the dishes for washing, and heard a loud bang as Charles dropped his mug onto the surface of the table. 

"S-sorry!" Charles scrambled to clean up the spill. Even as he wiped Erik could see his eyes periodically flicker back to him, looking at whatever had startled him in the first place. Erik traced his gaze to the wrist of his left arm, where a tattooed rainbow curled around it like a painted bracelet. 

"Charles?" 

"Y-your, um—"

"My tattoo?" Erik guessed. He felt a flicker of unease. 

"Does it... Does it mean anything?" 

Erik had gotten the tattoo his first week in Boston; he had loved the idea of living in a place where he could marry and it would be completely legal. 

"I'm gay." Erik stated flatly. "If you have a problem about that, I won't make you leave over it, but don't—Are you okay?" 

Charles looked like he was on the verge of tears, hands curled on the table. His looked down so Erik couldn't see his expression.

"You asked me why my parents threw me out." Charles said, his voice fragmented. Erik could sense where this was going, and by extension could tell how fucked he was. "They saw me at a dance, with a boy. And the shelter—" his hands tightened. "—they saw me again. I was careless."

Erik swallowed. Charles looked up and his eye were wet, sparkling with something like hope.

"You don't have to be careful here." Erik promised.

 

*****

 

The first week went by as well as Erik could have hoped, Charles’s apologies lessening to once every hour rather than every minute. He slowly got used to the feeling of having somebody sleeping under the same roof as him, pouring him tea when he got home from classes and making stilted dinner conversation over take out. 

Charles was enigmatic in an odd, shy sort of way. His time being homelessㅡand no doubt his time with his parentsㅡhad given him a default personality of timidness that rarely broke around anyone. But every now and then, something would spark his interest, and Erik would see a different side of Charles. It was a shadow of who he could have grown up to be; someone ridiculously intelligent, self assured and cultured, well above the common man. Someone who knew what everyone else in the room was thinking. 

The only difficulty was keeping his abilities in line. It was tedious, opening doors with his hands, walking over to set the kettle on to boil. He found himself more than once slipping; there had been a moment where he’d almost floated a fork over to Charles, quickly dropping it in the sink before he could see, his heart beat still slightly elevated as he carried another to the dining table like a normal person. Charles smiled at him, quietly amused, as if he knew what was going on. 

He always seemed to know more than he should.

It was a Saturday when Erik arrived home to find Charles staring out at the people passing by on the streets, a peculiar expression on his face. Erik realized he’d been cooped up in the house for a week.

“Let’s go out tonight.” he suggested, dropping his books unceremoniously on the coffee table. “Indian or Italian?”

“Er,” Charles looked startled at his proposition. “I’ve never had Indian before.”

“It’s great.” Erik assured him. He walked over to his fridge and was unsurprised by its complete lack of items. “We can always get something else after, if you don’t like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it.” Charles replied hurriedly. His manners were so complete at times Erik almost wished he were more rude. Charles walked over to the door and then stood there, looking mildly lost. “I, erㅡ.”

“Shoes.” Erik said, realizing. He had been barefoot that night. “And a jacket.” He took out one of his longer jackets, tweed, and handed it to a flustered Charles. He became that way, anytime he needed to use Erik’s clothes. Which was always.

Erik made a note to buy Charles clothes of his own, though he’d need to get them into the guest closet in secret and hope Charles didn’t notice the difference. His British courtesy barely let him borrow Erik’s sweaters. 

“Thank you.” Charles said, sounding grateful. His feet were at least an inch too small for the shoes Erik offered him, but the jacket suited him. It made him look older than he was, mature. Like the world’s youngest college professor. The idea made Erik smile involuntarily, but Charles didn’t seem to notice. 

Erik let his thoughts wander as they drove in companionable silence to the restaurant. He noticed that every now and then Charles’s mouth would quirk up as if he had heard something amusing; he did that quite often in the house too, starting a few days after he’d found him. It was endearing.

Had Erik not been gazing at the snow in that moment, he would have seen the slightest touch of a blush on Charles’s cheeks.

Erik set the timer on his phone to half an hour and fed the rusty meter a quarter; the last thing he needed was a parking ticket. The host led them to a table in what was clearly the couple’s section, with a small candle in the center held up by a rose shaped base. Erik didn’t bother correcting her assumption; it wouldn’t make much of a difference, and Charles would be flustered either way. The food was nice, the atmosphere cozy. 

It as setting up to be a wonderful night. Erik felt, for the first time in far too long, content, watching Charles carefully handle the bread, letting the dimness and the warm seep into his bones and calm him. 

He should have known it couldn’t last.

Somebody shoved past his chair from behind, knocking him forward. “Fucking disgusting,” the stranger spat, his eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you… fuckin faggots eat at your own places, now you’ve gotta... gotta to ruin our places too?”

The girl next to him rolled her eyes and tugged on his arm. In the background Erik could hear the man’s friends laughing loudly, cheering him on. His face was far too close to Erik’s, the smell of cheap alcohol heavy on his breath.

“Kindly fuck off.” Erik said calmly. He wanted to send the idiot’s piercings into his brain stem but there were several unfortunate things holding him back, one being Charles’s progressively paler face. 

The man’s eyes widened at his comment, the expression of outrage sloppy on his drunken features. “ _What d’you just say to.. me?_ ” he slurred, his fists curling. “Why you fuckingㅡ”

“Gentlemen.” a waitress cut in. Her voice was flat. “Time to leave.”

The man curled his lips in disdain but listened, his group of friends shuffling out the door. 

Erik looked down at where his knife had sank straight into the center of his rice and hoped his hands had put it there. Distantly, he heard Charles thank the waitress quietly, earning a smile and an awkward pat in return. 

He had lost his appetite, though thankfully Charles still seemed hungry. He had probably learned to not squander food; Erik grimacedㅡhe rather wished Charles had been spoiled. Better that than starving.

The alarm on his phone was a welcome distraction; he was tired of stirring the food around his plate. “I’ll be right back.” he told Charles, digging around his pockets for change. “Feel free to order anything else.”

Charles nodded, and Erik knew he wouldn’t take him up on his offer.

The wind had died down, he noticed, opening restaurant door. Snow still fell but it was gentler now, floating slowly downward in spirals where the streetlights illuminated them. 

They were beautiful; the night was picturesque. Perhaps it it hadn’t been, Erik would have noticed sooner.

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and suddenly there were many hands, throwing him into the alley next to the restaurant. It was almost pitch black without the streetlights but Erik didn’t have to see to know who they were. He could smell the alcohol.

The first punch whipped his head to the side, sending him crashing into the brick wall. It disoriented him; he couldn’t get a hold on anything metal nearby, couldn’t concentrate. His head pounded.

Another landed. A kick, his stomach. Erik strained, his hands buried in the snow on the ground, imagining ripping the lamp post from the sidewalk and impaling his assailants like meat on skewers. It didn’t happen.

There was laughter surrounding him, rowdy jeering; they cheered themselves on, excited in the violence. The noise seemed to build with every second that passed, his frustration mounting. He couldn't breathe, let alone get a lock on a damn ear piercing.

Suddenly, the noise stopped. Erik blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness. A fist hovered, unmoving, in front of his face. A foot was stilled partially jammed into his side. 

Above him, the frozen faces of his assailants stared down.

Erik turned to the entrance of the alley and saw a figure running to him. Behind it, the snow was suspended under the streetlight. 

Charles dropped to his knees, breathing harshly, his hands flitting in a panic over Erik's face, asking him to stand. He noticed to the foot keeping Erik against the wall and gave its owners a short glance, the foot retracting robotically a moment after.

"Charles?" Erik breathed, wincing as blood slid down his cheek. His torso felt like it had been his several times with a hammer. Perhaps it had been. "Charles, what's going on?"

"I—" Charles looked at him with muted panic. "—I can't explain it now. Are you alright? Should I bring you to the hospital? Where's the hospital?"

It took a moment for Erik to realize that Charles had not so much as opened his mouth. 

"I'm fine." He gripped the younger man's arm and slowly stood, leaning against the wall. The air seemed impossibly still. 

The second he straightened fully it became clear that he was _not_ fine; the world blackened, and he distantly felt arms supporting him on his back, felt the odd press of a scared, powerful mind. And then he felt nothing.

 

*****

 

Charles wasn’t sure what terrified him more; the fact that Erik now knew what he could do, the fact that Erik was now unconscious in an dark alley, or the fact that he’d just frozen every mind in Lexington. 

He let the control go and felt the town return to life as if nothing had happened; snow began to drift down again, dusting Erik’s face. 

Charles spotted the taxi driver turning onto his street and hesitated for only a moment; the cab stopped at the entrance of the alley and a blank faced couple exited, standing like statues on the sidewalk. The driver, equally expressionless, waited for Charles to heave himself and Erik into the backseat and then sped down the road towards the hospital.

The outside world turned into a blur of black and white. Charles sank into the seats of the cab and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Just how many minds had he invaded tonight? How many lives had he changed?

He’d promised himself _never._ It was wrong, to change people’s thoughts. Only people like his parents did that. He’d told himself he’d never tell another soul what to think, and yet here he was.

Erik groaned, head shifting where it lay on Charles’s lap. He looked so… different, in sleep. Less in control. Erik had always seemed so strong, and yet now he was so vulnerable, bloodied and weak. His mind was a mess of subconsciousness, thoughts disconnected and confused as he slept.

Charles had to resist the urge to throw his mind halfway across town and suggest the minds of his attackers to run into the bricks a few time.

Nails sliding across the plastic of his chair, Charles sank into the minds of Erik’s doctors and nurses, careful to only look. He let out a breath of relief as they ruled his concussion as minor.

A doctor walked into the waiting room and Charles knew it was for him.

“May I see him?” Charles asked. The doctor gave him an odd look; he hadn’t said a word.

“What is your relation to the patient?” he asked after a beat. Charles shifted through his mind quickly. Not a mutant.

“I’m his roommate.” Charles said. It was easy to pretend he was older than he was. “Please, I need to see him.”

The doctor pursed his lips and his thoughts flitted towards the family visitation policy, and then to Erik’s lack of any emergency contact. “Fine.” he said, turning to lead Charles to Erik’s room. “We’re going to keep him overnight for observation, but he should be fine to leave tomorrow. I’ve prescribed pain medication; the trauma to his midsection did not harm any important organs, but he will have extensive bruising.”

“Thank you.” Charles murmured, opening the door. He took a seat by the bed, covering Erik’s hand with his own. The doctor left and his thoughts mused fleetingly over this displayㅡ _Just roommates?_.

He stayed awake as the hours grew later; the brightness of Erik’s mind was close to consciousness, due to surface at any moment. Charles stared at Erik without reservations now, eyes tracing the curve of his lips and the fan of long lashes against pale cheeks. The cut on his cheek had been cleaned and stitched, but it still looked angry. Guilt settled amongst the dull panic in his chest; he should have read the intent in that man’s mind. He’d been too preoccupied, with the food, with the fact that they’d been playing a couple the whole night. 

It was nearing three in the morning when something tugged on the edge of Charles’s mind, a spark amongst the white noise of other minds. Erik’s eyes shot open and every metal object in the room shuddered just slightly.

“Erik?” Charles leaned forward. Erik blinked at him, eyes sliding from his face to their hands and back. Charles dropped his hand in embarrassment, looking away at the monitor. “You, ah, you have a minor concussion but they say you’ll be fine. And the doctor, he um, he prescribed pain medication?”

Erik shifted slightly and winced. “That’s good.” His gaze slid to the ceiling and stayed there. He let out a tired sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well this is great.”

 _College loans._ Erik’s mind was demurely distraughtㅡhe was already in debt, hospital bills were expensive… Charles swallowed. The guilt intensified.

“I-I’m sorry, Erik.” he stuttered. He was already adding to Erik’s expenses by simply existing. Should he have not brought him to the hospital? His injuries had turned out to be minor enough to treat at home…

“Charles, calm down.” Erik said. He sat up with a few colorful words and to Charles’s surprise grabbed the younger man’s hand and held it between his own. “Thank you for saving me.” His eyes were meaningful; they had too much to talk about. How much did Erik remember. “So,” Erik continued, and Charles’s heart crawled into his throat. “That’s quite a trick you have.”

Charles swallowed. “I could say the same for you.” 

Erik’s grin was surprisingly large. “How does it work?” he asked, eyes sparkling. “Do you control minds?”

“Well, Iㅡ” _I promised never to do that._ “I read them. And influence them.”

“That’s something.” Erik said. His mind flickered, vaguely concerned. _Has he done that to me?_

“Never.” Charles answered quickly, and then winced. “I don’tㅡI told myself I’d never change another person’s thoughts. Tonightㅡ” He looked down, closing his eyes. “ㅡthat was the only time.”

“Well,” Erik said, and his thoughts were warm. “I’m glad you did.”

Charles felt his mind slowly calm into a natural sleep and let himself smile. His hand was still cradled in Erik’s grasp.

 

*****

 

His loose morals did not end with Erik’s attack; Charles smiled and walked next to Erik as they checked out, simultaneously changing every doctor that had treated Erik’s injuries. The pain medication issued was just ibuprofen, as far as they were concerned. Erik had come in complaining about a headache. Those couldn’t be too expensive, could they?

They took a cab back to the restaurant to pick up Erik’s car and Charles couldn’t help looking back into the alley, expecting there to be blood in the snow, a gang of drunks waiting to jump them. There was only blindingly white snow.

The silence in the car this time was loaded, filled with the conversation they still needed to have.

“Can I ask you something?” Charles glanced over at Erik and found himself the subject of slightly concerned eyes. He already knew the question he was going to ask. 

“It didn’t feel right.” Charles said. “It felt like stealing. I did it once,” he admitted, looking down. “When I was truly desperate. But it felt too wrong.”

Erik laughed, slightly unnerved. “Do I even need to talk anymore?”

 _Not really._ Charles’s voice projected into his mind and Erik jumped. 

_You scared me._

Erik’s voice in his head was direct and loud; Charles looked up in surprise.

_You’re not the first telepath I’ve come across._

An image of a diamond woman flashed across Erik’s mind, followed by a rush of information: Psychology major, blonde, wit like a knife. Telepath; a mental shield of shards.

_I’ll have to meet her sometime._

Erik looked over a nodded, a smile on his lips.

 

*****

 

It took a miraculously short amount of time for them to get used to each other, mutant and all. The house was silent most of the time, but that was only because projecting thoughts took much less effort that speaking, and didn’t diminish in volume no matter where they were. 

Charles’s range was something extraordinary, though Erik didn’t realize until they ran out of milk a few days following the incident. He was walking with Emma to his next classㅡMaterials Science and Engineerㅡwhen she suddenly stopped, almost tripping him over. In the next moment Charles’s voice was in his head.

_Ah, Erik, it appears we’ve run out of milk. Would you be able to get some on your way back? I know there’s a market if you take the route onㅡ_

His voice cut off abruptly, and he found Emma looking at him with wide eyes, looking spooked. 

“Who was that?” She asked, her voice sharp. Parts of her face were flickering to the smooth edges of a diamond. 

Erik frowned. “That was my roommate. Did you just block him?”

“Iㅡ” Emma paused, looking troubled. “ㅡyes, I did. Sorry, I panicked. His presence was just… it was a surprise.”

“I thought you said there were a few telepaths in Boston?” Erik asked. She’d remarked once that it wasn’t anything terribly shocking, to feel one in or around her mind. 

“There are,” A pause. “Your roommate isn’t like them.”

Charles voice filled his mind again, slightly bemused. _Erik? You can hear me now, right?_

 _I can hear you. Are you still in the apartment?_

_Of course._ Erik could feel his amusement, a mental communication that didn’t have words. _That’s why I was asking you to get the milk._

 _I’ll do that._ Erik projected. He watched as Emma gave him a weak smile and mouthed the words _I’ll be late_ before walking across the courtyard.

 _Thanks._

Erik felt Charles’s mental presence fade out, until he was alone in his head again. He jogged to catch up.

“Hey, Emma.” She still seemed unnerved. “Emma, what did you mean before? About my roommate.”

“Charles?” she said, raising an eyebrow. He wondered when she’d picked the information out of his mind. “I knew about him since that first day. You didn’t think about anything else for all of Women’s Studies, I swear Erik, it was like you were yelling across the room.”

“Sorry,” Erik muttered, embarrassed.

“I just meant that he’s different.” she continued. “I’ve never felt a presence that strong. He projects like I do when I’m touching someone, except across the _entire city_. “

“That’s…” Erik walked, lost in his thoughts, and almost knocked into five separate people. “He’s only seventeen.”

“I know.” Emma said looking over at him. “I’d like to meet him when he’s our age.” She stopped walking, having reached the cross section where they split to go to classes. Her normally loose persona was dropped, serious now. “Erik, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

*****

 

The snow had finally let up by the time classes ended; he walked to the market without much trouble, the wind chilly but not bitterly cold like it had been for almost two weeks. The jug of milk in his hand was rather unpleasant though; he should have asked for a bag, his fingers were going to fallㅡ

Erik stopped in his tracks, the milk jug dropping from his grasp and spilling onto the frozen sidewalk. His numb fingers reached up and ripped the paper off the electric post

Charles’s face smiled up at him with tight lips, his hair wavy and proper, the sweater vest completing the private school boy look. Above him, in bright red, smudged letters spelled out the words MISSING.


	2. Stoneham

_BROWN HAIR, BLUE EYES, BRITISH, 5’7”._  
AGE: 17  
LAST SEEN: BRIGHTON, GREATER BOSTON, M.A.  
IF FOUND, MAY DISPLAY VERBAL CONFUSION. POSSESSES A NON-THREATENING MENTAL ILLNESS. 

 

Erik blinked at the poster, eyes running over the words again and again. Then he shoved the paper into his pocket and nearly ran home. He opened the door so quickly it rebounded and swung back at him.

 _Erik!_ Charles projected, his mind pleased. He was in the living room, holding up a letter. “The hospital bill came in theㅡAre you alright?”

Erik was breathing hard from running in the cold, dry air, his voice rough when he spoke. “Iㅡ”

He felt Charles in his mind, and shoved the flyer into the forefront of his thoughts. Charles’s eyes grew wide.

Erik took the paper out of his pocket and then sent his coat to the hanger by it’s zipper chain, moving to sit next to Charles on the sofa. He uncrumpled it and they stared together at Charles’s picture, his face framed by the lawn of a great estate. 

“I don’t understand.” Charles breathed. His hands had a slight tremor as he took the flyer and read it, expression darkening. “Actually, I think I do.”

“You said they kicked you out?” Erik could feel the dull press of fear in his chest. He couldn’t pinpoint where it stemmed from. 

“Because I was an embarrassment.” Charles stated, thumbing tearing a hole through the paper. “Now they’ve discovered a _cure,_ I suppose. Being a telepath was already bad, but now,” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Now I’m mentally ill, on top of it.” He looked up at Erik, perhaps reading the confusion in his mind. “I’m a single child. If I’m not heir, the company falls to my father’s second in command, and out of the bloodline. I’ve had more therapists than I’ve had teachers but they gave up the last time they found me...well, you know.”

Under his mask of irritation and resentment, Erik could tell Charles was scared.

“What are they planning to do?” he asked, knowing he’d probably prefer to stay ignorant. “If they find you.”

Charles swallowed. “Whatever it takes, I suppose.” 

Erik involuntarily thought of the documentary he’d watched once, about the treatment of people back when homosexuality was actually considered a mental illness. Charles winced at the images.

“Don’t worry.” Erik reached over, grasping Charles’s hand. He pressed his thoughts into the telepath’s head. _We could take on an army together. I won’t let them harm you._

 

*****

 

It soon became clear that things couldn't stay as they were; Charles's guilt over freeloading slowly expressed itself less in shy reluctance and more in frustration. He was becoming stir-crazy, and watching Erik drag himself in everyday from either classes or his job at the computer store wore at his conscious until he had elevated himself to housekeeper of Erik's small home, as if washing the dishes and rolling socks would make up for the food on his plate.

Erik didn't help, either. He was constantly gracious, kind in a way that was awkward but nevertheless genuine. Charles had sensed it since the first day they’d met; Erik wasn’t the kind of person who socialized easily. 

Charles also knew that he hadn’t always been that way, but the memories that surrounded that event were kept in a dark part of his mind, and Charles was loathe to disrupt it, to invade any further than he already had. Occasionally thoughts would float from that corner; a name, _Shaw_ , and a rush of intense hatred. And a face. He looked perhaps only a few years older than Erik was, but carried an odd impression in the memories Erik had of him, as if he were decades wiser. 

Charles's musings were interrupted by a fork nearly impaling him in the skull as it flew on its way to the sink. It dropped only a few inches from Charles’s heads, bouncing off his shoulder. Around him the fork’s fellow utensils similarly dropped like dead flies from their previous ascent, creating a chorus of metallic clattering on the tiles.

Erik stood in the corner of the kitchen with a rather alarmed expression on his face, mind screaming apologies become his mouth could even get to them.

“Charles, are you alright?” He walked forward and abruptly dropped to the floor, picking up the utensils by hand. Charles joined him in the effort. “I’m sorry, reallyㅡ”

“It’s quite alright, I’m not hurt.” 

Erik’s mouth twisted. “But you could’ve been. I’ll be more careful in the future, I’m sorry, I’m not quite used to living with another person yet. It’s… been a while.”

 _Since Sebastian._

The thought floated into Charles’s mind and echoed around. Erik’s mind was quickly following up on it, beginning to nose dive into guilt and old angers.

Charles scrambled to change the topic. “I think I should get a job.” he said, turning around quickly to deposit his collection of forks and knives in the sink. He could feel the shift in Erik’s attention.

“Oh really?” 

Erik’s tone was just about as apprehensive as his thoughts. Charles liked that about him; he was honest, most of the time.

“Yes,” Charles scraped his mind for the options he had thought about the other day. “Perhaps at that market on the way back from your college?”

Erik nodded. He wasn’t very enthusiastic. “I don’t want you to do this just because you think you owe me something.” 

_I owe you everything,_ Charles thought, but he knew the words would fall on deaf ears. 

“It’s not that.” he said, and that wasn’t completely a lie. “I’d just like to do something. Contribute. And you’re practically drowning in debtㅡdon’t give me that look, I could have told you that without the mind readingㅡand it’s not as if I’m too young to work.”

“What if you get recognized?” Erik’s mind flitted to the flyer he had found.

Charles frowned. “I’ll alter their memory.” The thought wasn’t pleasant, but he was warming to the idea. It was Erik rubbing off on him; if he had it his way, he’d be levitating his bags by their iron buckles to school. 

“You’d do that?” Erik asked, obviously doubtful.

“I’ve done it before, haven’t I?”

Erik’s hand lowered to his stomach unconsciously, remembering the attack. Finally he sighed, and he sounded so weary and adult that Charles could have giggled. 

“Fine.” He looked like he regretted the words as soon as he’d said them. “Just be careful.”

“Yes, sir.” Charles smiled, trying hard not to laugh at the mild horror in Erik’s thoughts. 

 

*****

 

Attraction worked oddly for telepaths; courting as well. As something usually so wrapped in intrigue and secrecy, in constant guesses at what the other person was thinking, the transparency telepaths had in relationships was unnerving at best and a deal breaker at worst. 

Charles tried his best to ignore thoughts like those whenever they floated across Erik’s mind, because he knew how common it was for people to lightly touch on thoughts without really meaning anything by it, and he also knew how seriously he could take things like this.

 _Innocent thoughts, Charles._ He reminded himself of this far too often.

It was hard to get things in perspective sometimes. Hard to remember that he was a homeless teenager without a family or a future. It was easy to get lost in the mundane, in the routine of work, home, Erik, sleep, repeat. Easy to let his guard down.

The day had promised to be a pleasant one; dusty snow, no wind, and Erik had made him breakfast in the time where he usually would have had his postponed American History lecture. Charles had walked to the market with warmth in his heart and Erik’s happiness in his mind. It was wonderful, being around happy people. Their emotions couldn’t help but flood his thoughts.

Of course, that made it doubly terrible to be in the presence of a person in a bad mood. He could sense it on Erik the moment he stepped back in the house, the burn of anger flowing from his bedroom upstairs.

 _Are you alright?_ Charles thought tentatively, pushing it gently into Erik’s mind, Some of the anger dissipated when Erik heard him, only to be replaced by fear. Charles caught snippets of thought; something about Sebastian Shaw, and about Emma, the diamond telepath. Betrayal. Fear. Erik was practically drowning in it.

Charles jogged up the stairs and decided to forego his usual knock, opening Erik’s bedroom door with little preamble. Erik was sitting on the edge of his bed, head cradled in his hands like he’d done something terribly wrong. Charles sat down next to him awkwardly and tried to decode Erik’s thoughts, but it was hard, without any real knowledge of who Shaw was. He only knew that Erik had seen him, had interacted with him, today. There was a sour memory of Shaw’s smug smile that was fresh in his mind, matched with the bitter cold of winter.

He could hear Erik take a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I suppose you already know everything.” Erik mumbled. He turned and peered wearily at Charles through his fingers. 

“I actually know very little.” Charles replied, trying to keep his tone light. One person panicking was bad enough. “Erik… who is Sebastian Shaw?” _What did he do to you?_

Erik tensed the moment he said the name, his mind sharpening. There was a long pause as his thoughts shuffled, and Charles let him think in private. “He’s a mutant.” Erik said finally. “He’s a very powerful mutant with some very dangerous ideas.”

 _Mutant Supremacy._ Erik’s mind supplied, voluntarily pushing the thoughts to Charles. Erik was quite good at that. _No more humans._ The memory of a smiling Shaw floated into Charles’s mind, a hand warm on his shoulder. The touch was familiar. Shaw smiled like a shark. _”No more hiding.”_

“That seems to align similarly to your ideals.” Charles pointed out, before wincing. Erik didn’t appreciate the comparison, but it was understandable. 

“That’s not the whole of it.” Erik said. He was sitting up now, eyes focused on the far wall with a glassy expression. “He’s trying to recruit some sort of mutant militia. Nothing large scale, but he likes to collect the most powerful ones, the ones with useful mutations. He has a shapeshifter, a teleporter… he didn’t have a telepath.”

“He took Emma.” Charles suddenly understood. “He tried to take you.”

Eric grimaced. “He convinced her of his cause; she dropped out a few days ago and never even told me.”

“And, ah…” Charles hesitated for a moment. _What about with you?_

_He was a senior the year I was a freshman. We roomed together off-campus, and he was my first friend. But he was never really in college. He was just there to recruit, knew that there were a lot of mutants in areas like these. He’s not as young as he seems, but he’s practically invincible._

Aloud, Erik said, “I would have been a nice addition to his collection. A shiny ferrokinetic.” A pause. Anxiety had suddenly spiked in Erik’s mind, and when he spoke again his tone was slightly frantic. “God, Charles.” His head fell into his hands again. “He knows about you.”

Charles felt the panic slowly seep from Erik’s mind into his own. “What do you mean?”

“That day you asked me to buy milk.” Charles squeezed his eyes shut. “Emma felt you. She knew how powerful you were. She must have told Shaw, because he _wants you._ ”

“Well he can’t have me.” Charles promised, with more confidence than he felt. Erik’s words were in his heart; _We could take on an army together._ “What can he do?”

 _Invincible._ Erik’s shoulders were hunched, devoid of the confidence he usually exuded, the strength. “He absorbs power. The harder you swing at him, the stronger he becomes.”

That would be a problem if it came to violence. But Charles operated on a different battlefield, didn’t he? 

As if Erik were the mind reader, he pushed on. 

“He says he has something that can block telepathy. A helmet.” Erik’s voice was muffled by his hands. Charles felt his body run cold. 

“Then what are we going to do?” 

Charles felt, suddenly, like a small child. But Erik was no parental figure; he wasn’t much older than himself, but hadn’t he fended off Shaw once before?

“How did you get rid of him? The first time.”

Erik laughed hollowly. “I threw a knife at his head, and even then…” He shook his head, frustrated. “Even then, he acted like he was just leaving temporarily. Like he would come back someday, and cash in on his investment. And here he is.” Erik looked over at Charles, and there was the guilt again. It made Charles want to drive Sebastian Shaw into insanity. ”He’s doubled his money.”

 

*****

 

The person from Child Services came almost three weeks after Shaw’s visit, while Charles was attempting the infamous microwave pasta and Erik lay on the couch, flipping mindlessly through TV channels. The moment the woman rang the doorbell Charles dove into her mind and out almost as quickly; she was easy to read, thoughts floating open and loose, no dark corners or niches. She was simply a human Child Services operative, making a house call on the tip of a man illegally housing a runaway teenager. Her mind was full of concern; the tip had been thorough in their suspicions that Erik was a pervert no doubt holding Charles hostage. He had a rainbow on his arm to prove it; a _homosexual._

Charles slid into the living room and grabbed Erik by the shoulder as he rose to answer it. 

_Act normal and roll up your sleeves._ He projected urgently. _Let me take care of this._

Charles was getting far too good at manipulating people’s thoughts, and becoming far too unconcerned by it. Not that this was a light matter; the voice in the woman’s memory was male, and Charles would have bet money that it was Shaw. 

Erik gave Charles a quizzical and slightly worried looked but complied, folding the turtleneck’s sleeves up, well above his wrist. He opened the door.

The woman greeted him and Charles could feel the surprise in her mind; she had been expecting someone much older. Erik smiled and made himself charming while she explained the allegations and glanced surreptitiously at his arms. She saw nothing but smooth skin, pale from the winter.

Charles stood in the living room in direct line of the door. When the woman peered in she looked right through him into the dining room, where she saw a single plate set up for a meal for one.

“Well I’m sorry to bother you, it appears I’ve got the wrong house.” she told Erik, embarrassed. Erik flashed another smile.

“It’s quite alright. Hope you find that boy.”

The door closed and he visibly sagged against it, looking up at Charles with mild disbelief. 

“What did you make her see?”

“A table set for one.” Charles said, glancing back at the table now serving two. “And your tattoo may have disappeared.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. He was impressed, and then doubly concerned.

“Shaw did this.” Charles nodded in agreement. Erik continued, starting to pace frantically. “He’ll know we did something to turn away the child protective services. Emma could even search that woman’s mind and confirm that you changed her thoughts. He’ll want you even more now.”

 _With you he’d be invincible._ The thought was purposely omitted from his words, but it was hard to hide anything from Charles. 

“Don’t worry.” Charles tried to sound reassuring. “I’m not going to join him. He can’t have me.”

Erik sighed. He gave Charles an appreciative smile, but it was too weary to look real. The visit had been an unwelcome reminder of their reality, hard to accept after weeks of peace. 

“I’m not afraid that you’ll run away with Shaw.” 

_I’m afraid of what he’ll do to get you._

“Even if he gets me,” Charles said firmly. He wanted to be brave, for once. Brave for Erik, after all he had done for him. “He can’t force me to do anything. You said it yourself; I’m a strong telepath. Believe it.”

Erik smiled at him again, and this time it was genuine. “I will.”

They ate in relative silence after that, neither one of them wanting to talk about Shaw, though Charles’s mind was racing. Across the table, Erik’s consciousness felt like a frantic ball of energy, similarly occupied as they consumed the terrible microwave pasta.

There were so many way Shaw could have tried to get to Charles; with his powers, he could have done it by force, or could have made a direct appeal to Charles like he had Emma. Instead, he had gone to child protective services. A human organization.

Why? Why would he have even put in the effort, knowing what Charles and Erik could do?

It was a human move, like a move by his parents. Charles froze, fork dropping to his plate. Erik looked up in surprise.

“My parents.” he breathed, looking at Erik in panic. “Erik, what if this was my parents?”

“Your _parents?_ ” Erik replied incredulously. “How would they have known you were…” He blinked, and then his eyes widened. “You think Shaw is working with them?”

Charles swallowed. He always hated thinking about his parents; it made him feel the oddest combination of anger, regret, and shame. “It’s a possibility. I can’t know for sure.”

“Yes, you can.” Erik’s eyes glittered. “Remember? You got into my head all the way across town.”

Charles frowned. “Yes, but I knew where you would be. And that was relatively short distance. My parents live in Stoneham.” _And I don’t want to be within ten miles of them._

Erik could read the reluctance on his face; he reached over and grasped Charles’s hand and for a moment Charles couldn’t remember what he had been fretting about, couldn’t think of anything besides how blue Erik's eyes were. And then he was looking away, grateful that he was the mind reader in this household. 

“It’s alright,” Erik was saying, over the thrum of Charles’s inconveniently elevated pulse. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Charles swallowed. His fingers curled in Erik’s palm. “No. I’ll do it. Stoneham’s just a twenty minute drive, right?”

Erik nodded. He was concerned but Charles could feel his relief, and he felt selfish. This mess with Shaw was just as much affecting Erik’s life as it was his own

His hand slid out of Erik’s as they both moved to clean up the table. It felt cold outside his grasp.

 

*****

 

Erik didn’t find Stoneham quite as abhorrent as Charles had described it, though perhaps it was just his appreciation for a change in scenery. The town was quaint and regular, a far cry from the city that lay just ten miles down the road. 

“It’s charming,” Erik remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Charles had been brooding next to him the entire car ride, tapping his fingers against his legs in an agitated pattern. Erik summoned his most calming thoughts and shoved them out to the forefront of his mind, pleased when Charles looked over and gave him a small smile, his fingers relaxing by his side.

“Let’s stop here.” Charles told the cab driver. They stepped onto the sidewalk in front of a small library and Erik walked inside, not missing how Charles angled his face away from the front desk librarian and walked briskly into the non-fiction section, where he could hide amongst the shelves. 

“Everything alright?” Erik whispered, once he had caught up. “Is there something wrong with the librarian?”

Charles offered a tight smile but otherwise avoided his gaze. “Nothing wrong.” he murmured. At Erik’s continued confusion, he sighed. “I stayed here the first few nights, after… that. The librarian found me the first night, sleeping under the chairs in the children’s section, but she never kicked me out.”

Erik frowned. He hated the idea that Charles had been homeless for so long.

“Anyways,” Charles continued, forced lightness in his tone. “I thought it as good a place as any to do this.” He began to lead Erik into the back of the library, where they kept the newspaper issues in drawers. “No one ever comes back here.”

He sat down on the floor and closed his eyes. It was odd, seeing Charles like this. He was always on the receiving end of Charles’s telepathy, never there to see him in action.

Charles in action was an awful lot like Charles in deep sleep.

After a few minutes, in which Erik had settled on the floor next to Charles and pulled out a magazine in case someone did pass by, Charles’s eyes snapped open. He took a deep breath, looking slightly ill. 

“Charles?” 

“I’m fine.” Charles said, replying to an unspoken question. “I’d just forgotten how unpleasant my parent’s minds could be.” Suddenly he was standing up, looking around for something. Obviously not finding it, he straightened again and put two fingers on his brow like he did every now and then, to focus himself. “It’s almost noon. They’re meeting with Shaw and I assume Emma within half an hour.”

_”What?” Erik exclaimed. He clapped a hand over his mouth as several hushes rose from other parts of the library. _Charles, what did you learn?__

_“They’re working with Dr. Shaw.” Charles explained in a low voice. “A supposed neurological miracle worker, specializing in cases like me. He’s already promised them that by the time he’s done with me I’ll be straighter than they are.”_

_“So we’ll just eavesdrop on their conversation from here.”_

_Charles shook his head. “If we do that, Emma will sense me.”_

_“So we justㅡ” Erik stopped, looking at Charles in alarm. “You really want to get that close?”_

_“What other choice do we have?” There was an new confidence in Charles. “We’ll make sure they don’t see us.”_

__You better hope they don’t,_ Erik thought._

__I know what Shaw can do. ____

____Yes, but you’ve never seen what he can do. We’d be powerless._ _ _ _

____Only if he wears the helmet._ There was a glimmer of danger in Charles’s mind, and Erik distantly recognized that he was witnessing the maturation of a truly powerful mutant. Charles was so benign looking, short and unthreatening. It was easy to forget._ _ _

___“Alright.” Erik murmured, out loud. “Where will they be?”_ _ _

___ _

___*****_ _ _

___ _

___Erik felt slightly ridiculous, as if he were in a tight-budget espionage film from the nineties. The hedges they were hiding behindㅡcurved around an ancient looking maple treeㅡwere tall enough to conceal them when sitting with almost a foot of clearance, but it left very little room between the bark and the twigs, room that they both had to share._ _ _

___He thanked his lucky stars that Charles couldn’t read his mind at the moment; he’d retracted all signs of his mutation to avoid Emma sensing his presence, keeping only the two of their minds shielded and invisible. Charles was warm next to him, a contrast from the rest of the freezing world. He was also almost sitting in his lap._ _ _

___Erik leaned back to peek through the hole in the hedges at the more populated areas of the park, partially just to get some distance between him and Charles’s extremely soft looking hair. From the corner of his sight range a familiar head of blonde hair walked into view, arm in arm with a man Erik knew to be Sebastian Shaw. He didn’t look a day older than when he had disappeared three years ago._ _ _

___They sat down on one of the few park benches that were not covered in snow, only a few meters away from the hedges._ _ _

___“Shaw and Emma are here.” Erik whispered, squinting through the brambles. He felt slight relief as he made out Shaw’s brown hair. “He isn’t wearing the helmet.”_ _ _

___Charles twisted around, his knees now between Erik’s legs. Erik really wished he wouldn’t move around so much._ _ _

___“That’s good.” Charles said, oblivious to Erik’s less than professional thought train. “My parents?”_ _ _

___Erik leaned back again. A brunette couple was walking towards the bench. “Just arriving, I think.”_ _ _

___“Let me see.” Erik almost had a heart attack as Charles climbed on top of him to see through the hole. “It’s them.” He moved back to his original position._ _ _

___“Okay.” Erik hoped he didn’t sound as ruffled as he felt._ _ _

___They made a standard greeting and then began business._ _ _

___“Mrs. Xavier, I’m afraid the Child Protective Services were unable to find Charles. As I said before, given your son’s… talents, it would be near impossible for human authorities to contact him unless he is willing.” Shaw’s voice was just as amiable as Erik remembered it. The sound made him want to send knives into someone’s throat._ _ _

___Mr. Xavier sighed, turning to his wife. She nodded before he continued. “Dr. Shaw, are you sure the proper authorities shouldn’t be involved in Charles’s case? He’s still a minor.”_ _ _

___“Only for another six months.” Emma remarked. “I’m sorry that we haven’t been introduced; my name is Emma Frost. I’m an associate of Dr. Shaw's.” Erik swallowed as she reached out to shake hands with Charles’s parents; she was wearing the long white gloves Erik had gotten her for Christmas, originally meant to be part of her pre-planned Halloween ensemble._ _ _

___“Then what do you propose we do?” Charles’s father was beginning to sound impatient._ _ _

___Shaw put a comforting hand on Mrs. Xavier’s arms, and Erik knew he’d be leveling his eyes with her now, creating the facsimile of caring that he was so good at. “Trust me; I have more than enough means to find Charles.”_ _ _

___“But what about afterwards?” Mrs. Xavier finally spoke up. Her voice sounded clinical and detached. “Charles will not comply with the procedures.”_ _ _

___“I can get him to cooperate.” Shaw promised. His tone was friendly and benign but Erik felt slightly ill, wondering what he meant by that. “Don’t worry. Leave it all to me.”_ _ _


	3. End to Ethics

The cab ride back home was silent and depressing; their trip had only confirmed that Charles’s parents were indeed working with Shaw, and that Shaw had confidence in his ability to somehow convince Charles to work for him. Nothing positive, and nothing useful.

Erik was the kind of person who prided themselves on being responsible most of the time, and then had moments where inhibitions didn’t exist. He knew what a bad idea this was as he went into the basement, continued to know as he searched for a corkscrew, and had finished half a glass before it fully sank in.

Charles stood across from a now thoroughly drunk Erik Lehnsherr, debating whether or not to attempt to wrestle the bottle from his grasp or let him stain his precious leather couch. The latter would be so easy…

Charles sighed and moved forward, Erik blinking up at him as he took the bottle and placed it on the coffee table behind him. He turned back, intent on taking the wine glass as well, and found himself being pulled forward instead, the glass floating away all on its own. He stared at it in wonderment for a moment before realizing the bottom was coated in gold.

As Charles was distracted Erik tugged again, this time managing to pull him half onto the couch.

“Chaarles…” Erik slurred, a docile smile on his lips. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I think it’s time for bed.” Charles placed a hand on Erik’s forearm, pushing his mind just slightly to stand and walk upstairs. 

Erik toppled into bed, dragging Charles with him. His mind was as hazy as his speech, but the lust there was impossible to ignore. Charles’s heart stuttered in his chest, his head rested on a pillow. Inches away Erik gazed at him with half lidded eyes, his arm warm on Charles’s waist.

They had barely brushed lips before Charles felt a slight sharpening of Erik’s mind before the other man froze, pulling away with wide eyes.

“Charles,” Erik breathed, panicked. He was sitting up now, as if trying to get as far away from him as he could. “W-we can’t, I can’t, you’re―”

 _Seventeen. God, Erik, he’s seventeen―_ Erik’s mind was a mess of emotions and drunken confusion. It would have been easy to erase all of his doubt, his concerns. But that would be like taking away Erik’s choice.

Charles listened to the sound of the bedroom door opening and slamming shut, felt Erik’s presence stumble down the stairs. He closed his eyes and buried his head into Erik’s pillow, unable to find the willpower to confront what had just happened. He willed sleep to come fast. It didn’t.

 

*****

 

Charles awoke and knew he had overslept by at least three hours; not even worth it now, to go to work. He was unsurprised to find himself the only mind in the house; Erik would be in classes.

He didn’t notice anything wrong until he turned into the living room from the stairs. His eyes found the broken wine bottle on the floor and couldn’t seem to leave the starkness of its contents against the white tile of Erik’s floors. It puddled around the shards of glass and seeped around the edges of the leather couch, mingling with something that was a much brighter scarlet. 

Charles walked forward in a trance, not feeling anything. Somewhere in his mind, he knew what he was seeing. There was blood, and a broken wine bottle on the floor. The wrought iron lamp was half impaled into the wall. A blanket was flowing off the couch, where Erik had slept last night.

His breathing was becoming uneven. He was going into shock, sinking into the couch.

The blood was cold, Charles knew. So was the couch. At least some part of his mind was still working. 

The front door’s lock had been completely knocked out, leaving a splintered hole in its stead. Almost every object from the entrance to the living room was disturbed; coffee table skewed to the side, rug partially overturned. Parts of the wall were dented in, shaving plaster onto the floor. 

Charles stared at the center of the floor, where Erik’s wineglass stood undisturbed amongst the chaos. It was half full, and had a note dipped into it like a lemon wedge. 

He got off the couch and felt the oncoming wave of fear wash into his chest. Charles sank to his knees in the middle of the room and his hands were shaking so badly the glass almost toppled in his grasp.

The ink had begun to seep into the wine, but Charles could read it clearly. A website link.

Typing was difficult. The blood from the couch had transferred from Charles’s fingers to the keys, and it was a shock against the white of the keyboard. It took him three times to correctly input the URL.

He waited for the screen to load as a sick feeling settled in his stomach.

It was a video feed.

The camera’s view was narrow, enough only for Shaw’s upper body and face, grinning at Charles as if they were old friends catching up over a video call. Behind him the walls were solid grey, generic concrete.

“Nice to see you’ve woken up, Charles.” Shaw’s voice was sickly sweet. “You’ve been a hard case. I hope you appreciate how much effort I’ve put into this.” He smiled at the camera. “I even had to meet your parents. Thought they’d be a bit more important to you, but I suppose not.”

He stepped aside and Charles’s heart crawled into his throat. Erik sat on a thickly molded plastic chair, bound by leather straps on his hands, legs and waist. A cloth was tied around the back of his head and forced between his teeth, but he still groaned audibly when Shaw hit him in the side. A practiced angle, straight for the kidney.

Charles had grabbed the screen of the laptop with both of his hands without even realizing it, his head pounding. The hits didn’t stop, one after the other, until blood seeped from the corner of Erik’s mouth as his head lolled. His eyes were finally closed but Charles couldn’t find comfort in the fact that he was almost passed out; in his mind, Erik’s blue eyes were still staring at the screen, filled with pain and a terrible resolve. 

Shaw chuckled and slapped him on the cheek lightly, dousing him in water. Erik blinked awake reluctantly, his breathing harsh, barely able to catch his breath before Shaw had his head pulled back by the hairs. Shaw grinned at the camera, bent close to Erik’s face.

“You know you were such a difficult case. All because this one here―” A tug on Erik’s hair. “―got to you first. I wondered for _nights_ how to convince you to join the cause, but you’re such a pacifist. And then I wondered,” Shaw’s smile widened. “Just how attached are you to our dear Erik, Charles?”

 _Very attached,_ Charles’s mind supplied unhelpfully. He thought back to what had happened last night, what could have been. _Far too attached._

“You’re going to do everything I say.” Shaw was saying on screen, wrenching the cloth from Erik’s mouth. 

“Charles, don’t―” Shaw knocked Erik unconscious. 

“Well,” He looked down at Erik’s limp form in mild distaste. “As I was saying, you do what I say―” His right hand started to glow until a molten ball of energy glowed in his palm. “―or I’ll throw a bomb down his throat, and send his ashes to the funeral. If there are any.” He grinned briefly before turning serious. “Emma will be waiting for you at the Parkman Bandstand in Boston Commons. Be there before noon.”

 

*****

 

Charles shuddered in the wind as he walked toward the pavilion, on one of many roads leading to the central Bandstand. He had forgotten a jacket.

Well, forgone was more appropriate of a word. After Shaw had disconnected the live feed Charles had run upstairs like a madman, throwing on one of Erik’s large black turtlenecks over his sweater, having slept in his jeans. He had stumbled out the door wearing nothing else not a minute later. He was arriving at Parkman Bandstand two hours earlier than noon but Emma was already there, her stark white trench blending in with the snow around her, with the white marble pillars of the pavilion.

“Charles.” Her smile was tightlaced and fake, her eyes cold and hard. She was a diamond, taking advantage of the barren park to protect herself from Charles at all costs. 

He could barely keep the poison out of his voice. “Emma Frost.”

“I’m going to make this quick.” 

“By all means.” Charles laughed bitterly. He could feel himself cracking with every moment Erik stayed in harm’s way. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from killing off another friend.”

“Erik won’t be hurt so long as you cooperate. And this is larger than all of us. Every revolution has its casualties.” Emma’s tone was harder than before. Charles felt the faint hope that he could appeal to her flicker and die. Her mind was wholeheartedly committed.

At least, it was for now. Her diamond shield was impenetrable, but only so long as she kept the form. 

The park was empty of people. He needed people to come. To risk exposing her nature.

Charles had wondered, for short moments of time, whether Erik honestly was a bad influence on him. Because since he’d met him, his old morals had been slowly slipping away, until now he barely had a flicker of doubt before reaching out to the nearest minds, sending five individuals towards them in various manners. One woman turned sharply, walking her dog into the Commons. Two joggers simply swerved in the snow. A couple walked hand in hand from the coffee shop down one of the many paths to the pavilion he and Emma stood on. 

The joggers arrived first, a few moments after Charles called for them. Emma saw them and the moment her form flickered in an instinct of self preservation Charles lunged, seizing her mind and refusing to let go.

She fought, much harder that any non-telepath would have. What could only be described as shards prodded at Charles’s mental shields, but they held fast.

He would be strong. For Erik. He would become the most powerful mutant in the world if he had to.

He dug around her mind and found the memories of a log cabin in the Adirondacks of all places. Old style, no metal nails needed. Everything was plastic or wood, for miles and miles. In her pocket was a silver phone, and she would have called Shaw with it the moment she’d finished debriefing him.

“Shaw,” Emma said into the phone, or rather, Charles did. “He’s headed to Washington.”

He put her to sleep on the floor of the pavilion afterwards and left, hoping rather childishly that she caught a cold.

 

*****

 

Charles was breaking a personal record for most manipulated minds in a day. Actually thinking about it, it was probably a world record as well.

It was oddly freeing, not caring about the ethics of it all. He could do almost anything, slip his way onto a jet flight to Albany, charm his cab driver to make the three hour trip to a national park and speed his way into a two hour drive. The cops turned their heads, with a little help. No charge at the hardware store either.

Charles spread his powers thin over almost the entire Adirondacks, conducting a _Have you seen this man?_ interrogation with thousands, simultaneously. It was almost an hour before he found anything.

A man had seen Shaw helping his drunk friend onto a snowmobile at Raquette lake.

After that it was almost easy. The locals knew which islands on the lake were private, which were public. They knew which ones were for campers and which housed old wooden cabins. If not for the pounding headache he had, Charles’s mood might have improved incrementally. The noise of an entire county in his head was starting to split him open.

He thanked the driver of the snowmobile he had commandeered, though it was unnecessary. He had commandeered the driver as well. It was only when he could see the cabin, under the shade of ancient pines, that Charles withdrew his mind. The relative silence in his head was deafening for several moments, until he grasped onto the pulse of a familiar mind, not three meters ahead of him. In the cabin. Erik.

He was alone, and slowly drifting in and out of unconsciousness. Charles entered his head as he opened the cabin’s door, and realized too late that there was only one way Erik could be staring at Sebastian Shaw’s hands at that very moment.

He had donned a helmet in the time between the video broadcast and now. Charles only had a moment to comprehend how terribly powerless was before an explosion sent him to the ground.

He and Erik were the only things affected by the bomb before it stopped exploding. Charles watched with lagging thoughts as Shaw forced the energy into a condensed ball before absorbing it all. Then he approached Charles as he lay on the floor and tapped his shoulder. Charles flew into the opposite wall like he’d been shot out of a cannon, collapsing in a heap by Erik’s legs. He caught his eye in the precious moments he had before Shaw reached him.

 _Erik, my sleeves._ Charles projected urgently, willing Erik to snap out of his shocked daze. The older man blinked and his mutation pulsed bright in his mind.

The nails spilled from Charles’s―Erik’s―sweater and shot behind Erik’s chair, severing the ties. Shaw either didn’t notice or didn’t care, all his attention focused on Charles. He pulled Charles up by the throat and the ball of energy he’d displayed earlier flickered to life in his palm again, only inches from Charles’s mouth.

 _”Charles,”_ Shaw hissed, sounding genuinely upset. “You could have been brilliant, do you know that? You could have had everything, been my second in command. But I know when to cut my losses.” The hand pinning his throat to the wall dropped him and moved to pinch his nose. Charles could feel himself suffocating, his mouth sealed shut as Shaw’s palm drifted closer, ready to feed him his death.

He gasped for air and felt the burn of raw energy, but only for a moment. Then Shaw was on the ground, his helmet suspended by molten strings across the room. Erik stood shakily.

Shaw’s mind was easy to overcome. It was amazing, that for all his power Shaw’s mind was as defenseless as an infant’s without the helmet, easy to hold still.

Erik slit his throat before Charles could even blink, and sent a nail into his chest for good measure. Charles felt the sharp tear as if it were his own throat, crying out, hands grasping his neck to stem the blood that gurgled from another man’s mouth. Something sharp pulled at him; Shaw’s mind was raging, desperate to heal the wounds. Charles held on with all the will he had in the world, knowing that he had to endure, that he had to hold onto Shaw’s mind until the very end. 

The thing about death and telepathy; it isn’t fun. Charles sank to the floor, his hands still wrapped around his neck, and distantly felt the panic in Erik’s mind, in his voice as he grabbed Charles’s shoulder and asked him something. Charles’s couldn’t make out the words. He could barely make out his own thoughts.

He felt like he was dying; holding onto Shaw required holding onto _everything._ He felt every drop of blood as it flowed out of a body that felt like his own, felt the tear of a nail against his own heart. Death seemed kind by that point, a welcome reprieve.

 

*****

 

Erik experienced the top two worst moments of his current life all in one day.

He thought it’d felt bad then, to be captured by the person he hated most in the world, to be beaten.

It was a joyride compared to this. This lasted perhaps for a minute, but for Erik it seemed like hours, like a lifetime, long enough for his soul to roast in hell and make the trip back. He leaned over Charles’s still form and listened to every slow heartbeat unaccompanied by breath, his mind in shock, unable to come to terms with what he had done. 

Sebastian Shaw had died and Charles Xavier had stopped breathing with him.

Erik felt tears form in his eyes for the first time in years, just as quiet gasping sounded from below him. 

Had someone come into the cabin right then, they might have thought Erik was the traumatized one. Perhaps he was. Charles wrapped his arms around him and if it was possible Erik felt even worse, because all he could do was bury his head in Charles’s neck and listen to him breathe. He must have stopped shaking, because Charles pulled back and gave him a tired smile.

“Sorry about that.” Charles murmured. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Erik swallowed and stared at Charles with badly masked incredulity. “You’re _sorry?_ ” He could feel his eyes growing bright with those unused tears. “Charles, I almost _killed you._ ”

Charles eyes widened. “Oh Erik, I was never in danger. You see?” He gestured to himself, sitting up. “I’m fine.” 

Erik didn’t trust himself to speak.

 _You weren’t breathing._ He thought, his heart accelerating again at the memory. _I consider that danger._

“That was just a mental reaction.” Charles said. He rubbed his neck absently and Erik winced. “I was experiencing what Shaw was experiencing, so when he died that was my body’s reaction to it.” He tried to lighten the mood. “I’ll have you know I can hold my breath for almost two minutes.”

It didn’t work. Erik’s mind was echoing with Charles’s words, drowning himself in a sea of guilt. 

One good thing about being a telepath was that Charles knew when to drop an argument. They needed to get out of this bloodied cabin and back home, where Erik could calm down. The way his mind was at the moment, Charles knew even the most rational argument couldn’t cut through the guilt.

 

*****

 

Charles dragged Erik to the couch the moment they closed the front door, sidestepping the broken glass and wine stains. 

Erik behaved like a catatonic man, letting himself be pulled along with little protest, his eyes glassy. He was deep in his head, and Charles didn’t approve of what was going on in there.

“Hey,” Charles said, gently nudging Erik’s cheek. Erik blinked at him. “Stop that nonsense. Nothing happened that you should be sorry for. You did what you had to, and so did I.”

“It’s my fault.” Erik’s voice was unnaturally quiet. It scared Charles slightly, to see him like this. Fragile. He’d never have dreamed of applying those words to Erik a day before.

Charles sighed impatiently. “Look,” he said, motioning at his neck. “I’m completely fine. In fact, the only one of us in need of medical attention is _you._ ” Charles realized belatedly that they were wearing the exact same outfit. “Take off your sweater, please.” 

 

The bruises were just starting to darken, and from where they were placed Charles doubted Erik had broken bones. “Do you have any sharp pain?” 

Erik ignored his question entirely. “How much did you feel?” he asked Charles, his eyes still downcast. “From Shaw.”

“Not much.”

_”Charles.”_

_“What?”_ Charles snapped, exasperated. “I felt everything, alright? But that doesn’t change anything.” _Erik, listen to me._ “Nothing is your fault,’

“I just killed him.” Erik breathed. “I could have spared you. I made you hold on to him while I-while he―”

“You took your opening.” Charles gripped Erik by both shoulders and barely kept from shaking them. “What if you had waited? The moment I let him go, he would have overpowered us. I’d do it again if I had to.” 

“But what if I’d―” 

Charles did the only thing that seemed logical. He leaned forward and his lips barely brushed Erik’s, but it got him to shut up. 

“Is this okay?” he breathed, his voice soft between them. 

Charles could read the answer on his mind.


End file.
